


Maybe

by okayhotshot



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluffy, Romance, i wrote dis for my good friend, this is cheesy as it gets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 19:21:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1790341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okayhotshot/pseuds/okayhotshot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen reflects on how he fell in love with the Inquisitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I wrote this fic based on suchafrickenkayce on Tumblr's Inquisitor. But I thought other people might enjoy it. Here goes nothing.

Cullen decided that he had a bad habit of falling for people that he should not. It was different with Amell back at the Circle. He knew that nothing would ever come of it. Not only was he a Templar, the girl’s enemy, he could never stop stumbling over his words around her long enough to even mumble a proper greeting. When he did manage to stop his tongue from falling down like a fool around his syllables, he never was able to muster up the courage to say anything to her about the way he felt. He admired her from afar and never had any excuse for extended interaction with the mage. That was not the case with the Inquisitor. Whatever it was about her that made his chest tighten up whenever she was near was more than a silly, Chantry boy admiration.

It did not start out that way. He did not agree to join her on her journey to seal the Fade because she was pretty. But,  _Maker_ , was she  _ever._  The thing with the Inquisitor started off slow, burning, glowing softly like embers left to wither away in the twinkling light of early morning. He is not sure how it began. Not really.

 

Maybe it was the way she smiled. Softly at first, just a hint of a smirk starting with her thin upper lip that pulled the fuller bottom one up along with it. Then all at once it went from a tiny thing, like the first beams of sun rising over the horizon at dawn, to an absolute grin, comparable to the sun shinning its brightest at the highest point in the sky. Or the way it reached her green eyes and made them sparkle like precious gems underneath a light.

Maybe it was the way she carried herself. Obviously proud of her body, swaying her hips as she walked, her hand resting on at least one dagger all of the time, always prepared for battle. Or the way she walked with her head held high, shoulders back, perfect posture, not ashamed of her heritage at all, always pushing her fiery red hair behind her pointed ears, allowing the world to see her for what she was.

Maybe it was the way she spoke. Clearly and without warrant of what people might think of her. Biting sarcasm and unbelievable sass poured from her lips when she found it necessary and she wore a smirk with every jab that she uttered.

It could have been the way she fought. Her combat skills were practically incomparable. She moved quickly, stealthily, and with an intent to kill. Cullen had to admit the first time he saw her take down an opponent with only a single swing of duel daggers that, in a strange way, it took his breath away.

If Cullen could not put his finger on exactly what started the burning in his heart, he could not even begin to explain what caused the spark that ignited the fire that set him ablaze.

Maybe it was not just the way she smiled, but the way she smiled at  _him_. A slight, barely there, little thing that she cast at him while looking up through her lashes. The way it pulled at her lips as she tossed yet another teasing remark at him, attempting to draw a “Maker’s breath!” from his lips, to make his cheeks paint themselves a horrible shade of red.

It could have been the way she laughed, different with everyone. Loud and boisterous when she was causing trouble with Sera, subtle when associating with Vivienne, a slight chuckle with a roll of her emerald greens when dealing with Varric, and soft and sweet with him when he managed to crack a joke, or let one of her brash comments get to him. 

Maybe it was not the way she carried herself as she led, but rather the way the facade seemed to disappear the moment she was alone with him. Her back relaxed, her shoulders dropped, and her usually stone-set face showed a vast range of emotions anywhere from happiness to sorrow. Her entire demeanor changed once she had him where she wanted him. 

Maybe it was not the way she spoke, but the way she talked to him. A solid look in the eyes, ears perked up in attention, never completely dismissing his opinions, but not always agreeing either. She never argued, only took the time to discuss things rationally, never treated him differently simply because he believed in the power of the Circle. Her voice, usually so hard, full of clear determination, changed almost completely. When she spoke to him, her tone was softer, almost affectionate in nature, but he knew without a shadow of doubt that she would never admit it. 

While all of those things could have been the start of the blaze, he could state off exactly the cause of the inferno that now raged hotter in his chest than anu fire that the Void had to offer. 

It was the way she trusted him enough to tell him about her personal life, stories of her clan, of the people that she once knew and was convinced that she would never see again. Even tales of her culture, why she never received her vallaslin, and anything else she could cook up. She shared her ideas about how to seal the tears in the Fade, theories on her own religion and even his, and her dreams. She openly admitted to the evasive nightmares about an endless sea of green smoke that surrounded her, that worked its way into her lungs until there was no room left for air. She told him how she would wake up wanting to scream as her arms scrambled for something to hold onto, but all that escaped her were strangled coughs and desperate gasps for air.

It was because she did not turn down his offer to sleep outside of her tent, to be there when he heard her struggling to breathe in the dead of night. It was because when he did, in fact, hear her, and he let himself into her tent, not bothering to care that he knew she slept bare, she did not turn him away. As Cullen knelt beside of her bedroll, he could not help but wrap her blanket around her body, bundling her up and pulling her against him. He ran a comforting hand up and down her back, softly singing to her, hoping that he might be able to pull her from the blackness that was trying to encase her. 

It was the way she did not scramble from his arms, but burrowed her head into the crook of his neck, urging him to keep singing through strangled sobs. Cullen could not deny how perfectly the woman fit in his arms, how right it felt to have her melted against his chest. 

It was the way she did not tell him to stop as he peppered kisses to her forehead. It was the way she looked up at him, finally able to catch her breath, the sobs ceasing, with traces of tears still on the porcelain skin of her cheeks. It was the way she swallowed her pride and whispered “thank you” in that voice she only used on him, the way her eyes were searching his for something that he could not quite place. It was the way her lips looked like the softest, most inviting things he had ever seen. It was that, unlike him, she did not let fear hold her back and grumbled out some comment about “hard-headed Templars” before pressing her lips to his and his entire world came crashing down in the best way. 

His Inquisitor was a storm, fierce and strong, and came rolling in with the wind, unwarranted and maybe unwanted at first. But once she arrived it was clear that the rain and thunder and lightning she brought along were needed. Cullen often felt like he was caught in an endless downpour, soaking in her very presence and bathing in her essence. Cullen never thought that he could feel the way that he did about her, but he was wrong. He knew he had no right to feel anything for her at all, but he could not help himself. There was no going back.

Cullen had a bad habit of falling for people that he should not, but he decided that he did not care. He was happy to drown in her rain and be burned alive by her flames. 


End file.
